


Even Dragons have their Endings

by kittenmittens



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Sword & Shield | Pokemon Sword & Shield Versions
Genre: Discussion of Abortion, Internalized Homophobia, Like very mild and quick tho, M/M, Magical Pregnancy, Male Lactation, Masturbation, Mpreg, Slow Build, male breasts, well kind of; raihan's convinced hes straighty-mcstraighterson
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:21:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23182405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittenmittens/pseuds/kittenmittens
Summary: “I think the baby you’re carrying is Leon’s.”Raihan’s never been struck by lightning, but hehasbeen blown halfway across a stadium by Leon’s Dragapult using Thunderbolt, and this feels wildly close to that.
Relationships: Dande | Leon/Kibana | Raihan
Comments: 17
Kudos: 111





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oop most of these tags aren't gonna apply til later. Anyway uhh I'm super American so if you're super british and you wanna tell me how shittily i used slang/how much i overdid it please let me know!! thanks so much and enjoy yeet .   
> EDIT: somebody had a quite valid criticism abt the kabu scene so i tweaked it a tiny bit. hopefully it makes more sense this way :)   
> EDIT 2: after some reflection: is my excuse for how to get raihan knocked up a little hamfisted? sure. but i also feel like mentioning there's an episode of the original pokemon anime where ash just gets turned into a pikachu. literally transformed into a walking, talking pokemon. not by some legendary pokemon with godly powers, or an ancient, mystical artifact, but just some girl. if i felt the pokemon universe warranted a less arbitrary excuse for magical mpreg, i assure you, i would have thought of it. but otherwise, not everything has to be justified out the wazoo, and if you insist on things like that being the case, maybe this isn't the fandom, or type of fic, for you. ;)

When Raihan wakes up, he feels a mite _off._ Yeah—probably to be expected when you’ve just had an evening like the one Raihan has. It’s Gloria’s fault, really; she had the brilliant idea of sticking an abomination like Eternatus on her team. That got Leon riled up, and Raihan, smart bloke that he is, heard Leon talking about trying to wrangle his own legendary Pokémon and thought, “Yeah, alright.” Sounded like fun at the time. Or maybe Raihan’s been missing Leon thanks to all the time he’s been visiting Sonia since she took on Hop as an apprentice. So he wanted to spend a bit of time with his best mate. Sue him!

Either way, they ended up out in the Slumbering Weald, wandering around like idiots. As though some fourth, legendary Pokémon was about to drop into their laps with a, ‘Cheers, bruv. Want to put me on your team, then?’ They wandered around for what had to be hours, and that’s when things got… tricky _._ They ended up at this weird, old fountain, nearly taller than the trees around it. Which didn’t really make sense _,_ since neither of them had ever seen it before, or even gotten a glimpse of the top of it over the trees. Well, Raihan was thirsty, and the water looked alright, so he had a drink, even with Leon telling him how dodgy an idea that was.

‘Course, he probably was right. Not even a second later, Raihan got knocked on his arse as not one, but _both_ of Hop and Gloria’s legendary beasts smashed down out of the sky from who-knows-where, staring him and Leon down like they’d done something unforgivable. Then, just as Raihan was getting to his feet, about to give Leon the idea that it might be a good idea to run _,_ they both—

Well—no other word for it, they _bowed_ at them. And Raihan remembers feeling weird. Stranger in his own skin, sort of. But that doesn’t come close to how the feeling hits him when he wakes up. See, there’s this unmistakable sensation that he’s got something odd between his legs. And he doesn’t mean his knob, or the lads—something between the insides of his thighs… It doesn’t quite _hurt_ , but it’s bothering him, the way a sore, or zit, or dry skin might. So, still half-asleep, he does what any bloke would do in his own flat, and reaches down his pants for a scratch.

Then he screams loud enough for two separate neighbors to call the police on him.

*

“Oh! Here it is.” Raihan watches Sonia heave this massive book off the shelf, then hurries over to try and help her set it down. Even with both of them holding it, it hits the table with this ominous sort of _thunk_ that tells Raihan it could’ve broken one of their fingers, easy. Sonia couldn’t care less, of course; she’s already opened it, flipping through it like mad. “Yes! Yes, this is it.”

“Er.” All Raihan sees is a drawing of one of the heroes of old, and what’s got to be his wife. Sonia runs her finger along the text, then flips to the next page. There’s another drawing of the woman, but this time she’s got a glowing, round belly, clearly pregnant. Raihan’s got no clue as to why, but this gives him a nasty feeling of dread _._ “What are we looking at?” Still not sure what drove him to come to Sonia for help, instead of, you know, a bloody _doctor_ or something, but Raihan’s got a feeling what’s happened to him has everything to do with his and Leon’s little hike through the Wealds. And Hammerlocke’s got the vault, some information on the darkest day and all that, but much as he hates to admit it, Raihan needed an _expert_.

“After the darkest day, one of the heroes took a bride. He wanted an heir, but after years of trying, they couldn’t produce a child together. So, according to these texts, the hero prayed for help… See, now we know that he probably called upon Zamazenta and Zacian, and they brought him to a sacred place. A fountain in the mystical woods—or, as we know it, the Slumbering Weald.” Raihan nods to show he’s listening, but Sonia’s on a warpath, not even glancing at him as she plows onward. “They guided him to take water from the fountain and give it to his wife, which he did. After that, they were able to conceive their first child.”

Oh no.

“But—“ Forcing a hand over the page so Sonia will stop reading, Raihan insists, “Whatever that was—I mean, whatever was in that water… Whatever did… _this_ to me… It’s probably temporary, right?” Raihan could barely stomach telling Sonia the _gist_ of it, but he thinks she gets what he tried to explain when he got here.

“Well,” says Sonia, gently prying Raihan’s hand away so she can close the book, “this passage mentions the heroes having tried to find the fountain again many other times, but they never did. Its appearance must have been like the Darkest Day—like Eternatus returning. Only happens once every 3,000 years or so.” She seems satisfied with that, but thankfully, gets that Raihan _isn’t_ , and hurries to add on the rest. “Oh! Uh—as for whether the effects would be temporary…” Rubbing at her chin, acting as though this isn’t nearly as disturbing as the bloody Darkest Day itself, she decides, “Considering the hero and his wife went on to have seven more children, I’m going to say _no.”_

“ _Fuck_ me.” Raihan grabs at his head, trying not to hyperventilate. “So I’m stuck like this, eh?” A total freakshow below the belt? He’ll never get to take his trousers off in front of another bird for the rest of his life, unless they’re into some peculiar shite. And then there’s the fear of it getting out—of having the whole of Galar learn that he’s been turned into a walking anatomy guide for _both_ sets of reproductive organs. Yeah—forget beating Leon soundly into the ground, he’d _much_ prefer his three million subscribers tuning into that little story.

“Erm.” Oh, Raihan does _not_ like the sound Sonia’s just made. “Unfortunately… _yes._ At least, for the time being. But… that’s not all.”

“It’s not?” Bloody hell. What now?

Sonia reaches into a desk drawer, pulling out a small box, which she pries open. From inside it, she pulls out a thin, pink wand shape. Raihan’s only seen it once outside of movies and the like, on an ex-girlfriend’s countertop during one of the scariest moments of his entire life. He stares at it for a while, all the feeling slowly draining out of his face, and feels he’s got to repeat the same sentiment from earlier.

“ ** _Fuck._ **_Me.”_

*

See, Raihan knows he’s got options. Doesn’t have to tell a soul about it (beyond Sonia, who’s already _intimately_ aware), could go to some private hospital, pay out the nose to get a quiet, under-wraps procedure done. But, thing is—and, yeah, maybe he’s a tad ashamed to admit it—he’s bloody terrified of hospitals. Surgery, _procedures_ , anything like that. He wants to pretend he hasn’t done anything about it because he hasn’t made up his mind, but, truth is, he probably would’ve ‘made up his mind’ ages ago if he weren’t so scared.

He’s got time, though. That’s what he keeps on telling himself, right up until, before he’s really aware of it, he’s almost forgotten. Really, he _has_ forgotten, between the weird, skin-crawly moments where he can intimately feel the new equipment between his thighs while he’s showering, or spreading his legs too far, or getting a bit, y’know, _randy._ Yeah, turns out that feature’s got _all_ the odds and ends, something he figured out right at the start of a would-be wank. Real nasty surprise, that. Not that Raihan’s got a problem with vaginas—bloody loves ‘em, just not when they’re attached to _him._ But outside of that, he’d stopped thinking of the other bit. The other… problem.

And then he finds himself being sick in the locker room toilets just before a rematch with Gloria. After he’s sure he’s finished, and he’s wiped his mouth clean, Kabu stops him just outside the door.

“Are you… not feeling well?” Damn—he’s got a way about him, doesn’t he? Feels as though Raihan’s been put under a microscope.

“Uh. Just a bit under the weather.” Doesn’t seem like he’s satisfied with that, so Raihan tries to end the conversation. “Ta, mate.”

Kabu squints up at him. “You know… When I was younger, there was a popular trend among more insecure trainers to stay out all night. Celebrating. _Drinking.”_

“Yeah? Gonna ignore that you just called me ‘insecure’, but, y’know—“ Raihan shrugs. “Carry on.”

“They let themselves get a bit too... ” After taking a dramatic pause, he adds, “ _carried away_.”

Raihan blinks as the thing Kabu’s trying to accuse him of slowly dawns on him. “ _Mate._ ” Is he taking the piss right now? “You callin’ me an alcoholic _?”_

“I heard you in there.” Pointing towards the loo, he shoots Raihan a rough, you-can’t-fool-me look. Raihan groans.

“Look—I appreciate the concern, but _Raihan_ doesn’t need to get completely pissed to have a good time. Not for Pokémon battles, not keepin’ in shape, not…” He pauses, then laughs and sticks his tongue out. “ _Other_ fun stuff.” Kabu doesn’t even bat an eyelash at that, and he don’t really looked fooled, but Raihan’s not about to keep arguing with him. Just for emphasis, he tacks on, “It’s just a stomach bug. That’s _all.”_

“Hmph.” Kabu goes back over to his locker and starts rummaging around. Shrugging, Raihan heads over to his and starts zipping up his hoodie. Suddenly, quiet as a bloody dedenne, Kabu’s standing at his elbow.

“Er.” Raihan raises an eyebrow and looks down at him.

With another grunt, Kabu holds out his hand, and Raihan sees that he’s holding one of those cloth masks you’re meant to wear on the subway.

Ah, _hell_. Forcing a grin, Raihan takes it. He even goes so far as to thank the bloke. “’Preciate it.”

*

Raihan’s in his office—always found it ridiculous that a gym leader’s got to have an office, even if he barely uses it—when he finally sees it. Could be that he’s not wearing his hoodie for once, or maybe that he hasn’t actually had a look at himself outside of the camera on his phone, but either way, it’s definitely the first time he’s laid eyes on it. His stomach. More specifically, the way it’s sticking out like that, all on its own. Someone who didn’t know better might think it was from eating a mite too much for breakfast, or the very slight beginnings of a beer gut, but Raihan _does_ know better, and frankly, it makes his skin crawl.

Sure, nobody’ll know the truth, but there’s no hiding it anymore: that _something_ has changed. Gritting his teeth, he rolls his shirt up, staring at his reflection. His abs have gone and smoothed out, and the way his stomach juts out isn’t quite round; almost very softly pointed just under the navel. Weird. It looks bloody weird _._

“Better lay off the crisps, eh?”

Raihan jumps a foot in the air, dropping his shirt and jerking his head back to gawk at Leon. 

“Only kidding, mate.” Grinning ear to bloody ear, Leon lets himself in, trotting over to Raihan and glancing down at his belly as he asks, “So. Are you excited?”

“… Excited?” Wait a tick. “Excited for what, exactly?”

“Raihan!” Leon seems scandalized that Raihan can’t up and read his thoughts, but he leans over and whispers. After looking all around, like he expects there’ll be some random, nosy git with his face pressed to the glass, that is, “You know. The baby!”

Oh, no. No, no— _you’ve got to be kidding_. Sure, Raihan knows Leon and Sonia are friendly; even did their gym challenge together, back in the day. But she wouldn’t just tell him without asking Raihan first. She’s a smart bird, and Leon’s a smart bloke, so maybe he just… figured it out on his own. Sure. That’s possible. Not probable, yeah, but possible. “… How’d you know about that, exactly?”

“Ah!” Leon keeps grinning like that, and Raihan’s not certain if it’s the hormones, but he sort of wants to throttle the bloke. “Sonia told me.”

Oh, great _._ That’s just brilliant. ‘One person he could trust’, eh? And she’s supposed to be a scientist, right? Don’t they have some sort of confidentiality agreement? Ah, _fuck_. That’s doctors. Alright. It’s too forward, and his tone’s plenty rude, but Raihan’s past caring by now. “And _why’d_ she tell you, exactly?”

“Well, uh…” Leon scratches at his beard, looking like a lost yamper, and Raihan feels his anger start to fizzle. “She said she thought I ought to know. Oh, and she mentioned she’d like to see the both of us as soon as we can get over there.”

Raihan has the same type of feeling as when he got called into the office in primary school. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Leon completely misses the note of dread in Raihan’s voice and plows forward, same as always. “Well? Shall we? Or do you need a little more time to check yourself out in the mirror.”

“Sod off,” grumbles Raihan, and he stomps past Leon out of the office.

*

Best word to describe the look on Sonia’s face when they sit down in her lab is ‘conflicted’. She looks to be somewhere between glad and highly, _highly_ uncomfortable. And, yeah, that don’t really put Raihan at ease.

“So!” She claps her hands together, forcing this grin that makes Raihan want to start cringing, too. “I’ve told Leon about the whole… situation. Er—well—not _all_ of it. See, uh—there’s something that I’ve sort of… only just realized. And I think—uh, no. I _know_ that both of you ought to be made aware of it.” She clears her throat, takes an important sort of pause, and goes on. “Both of you know the history of the fountain, but as I was doing some supplementary research, I found _this.”_ She brandishes a piece of old parchment like it’s a weapon, and both Raihan and Leon lean forward to have a look at this painting of a cherubic, smiling little girl.

“Um.” With a look at Raihan, to confirm he’s just as lost, Leon prompts, “It’s… a nice picture?”

“Leon, she’s got _black hair.”_ Sonia steps back, rummages through a few loose pages on her desk, then holds up another picture—this one of a smiling, royal couple holding their newborn baby: one of the heroes of the darkest day and his wife. The same two that used the fountain a few millennia ago. “Look at her father! Black hair. And her mother! She’s _blonde.”_ Sonia grins—seems whatever had her nervous before has taken a backseat to her excitement over making whatever scientific discovery this is turning out to be. “That means his parents could have only had dark hair. See, at first, I sort of assumed—I mean it’s magic, yeah? So you can only explain so much. But my best guess was that the daughter had to be some sort of clone of her mother, genetically. Same with the other children—it explained why they only had daughters. But then I found this picture, and she’s got that dark hair, which means she must have inherited it from her father. She wasn’t just a double of her mother, she had genetic material from her father as well.”

Now, Raihan’s still got no bloody clue where she’s headed with this, but he’s got a feeling. And this feeling… Well, it’s something a mite like _dread_. “So, uh… What’s this got to do with us?”

“This baby…” Raihan would _love it_ if she didn’t use that word. He knows it’s stupid, but he just about flinches when he does, and he gets this surge of panic. It’s so bad he nearly misses what she says next. And when the words actually hit him, he sort of wishes he _had_. “I think the baby you’re carrying is yours _and_ Leon’s.”

Raihan’s never been struck by lightning, but he _has_ been blown halfway across a stadium by Leon’s Dragapult using Thunderbolt, and this feels wildly close to that. He’s not sure if his bones are jelly, or if he’s even still in his body. But he thinks maybe he’s died, or sort of stopped existing, or maybe he’s forgotten how to be a human being. There’s an odd croaking noise, and he doesn’t fully realize it’s him, and that he’s _said something_ , til the words are out of his mouth. “… You _sure?”_

Sonia nods, and Raihan knows he must look pretty awful if her face is that guilty. “Nearly positive, actually.”

“That’s—“ Jerking his head over, Raihan watches as Leon looks from him, to Sonia, and back to Sonia again. “I—uh—you’re _really… ?_ You’re really, _really_ sure about this? I just—“ He does this mad laugh, and Raihan just about pisses himself, because—does he sound _excited?_ “Wow.”

There’s another moment where Raihan doesn’t know what’s happened ‘til it’s already happened. Next thing he knows, there’s a loud clatter, the chair is on the floor, and Raihan’s standing, hands clenched at his sides. Look—he doesn’t know what Leon’s going to say next, or Sonia, but he just— _can’t_ bloody process any of this with them gawking at him. So he gets out of there. Jams his hands in his pocket, hunches his head and does the fastest walk humanly possible out the door. And he gives nothing but a quick “I need to think” by way of goodbye.


	2. Chapter 2

Raihan’s positive that Leon’s going to say ‘yes’. He’ll agree with what Raihan’s got to say, and once he gets this shite discussion out of the way, that’ll be that. Raihan knows that it’ll happen _exactly_ like that, because he knows Leon nearly as well as Raihan knows himself. ‘Course, none of that stops the nerves one bloody bit, and when Leon picks up after just two rings, Raihan’s heart does this awful thing where it dives through his ribcage and drops into the pit of his stomach.

“Raihan? Oh, thank God. I’ve been trying to—“

“J-Just…” Fingernail picking manically at a tiny scab on his chin, Raihan tries to get it out as fast as he can, before he’s too tempted to hang up. “Listen, mate. I’ve got some things I need to say, and I’m gonna need you to just—just _listen._ Hear me out first, and then you can talk.”

There’s this pause, and then he can practically hear Leon nodding. “Y-Yeah, mate. Of course.”

“I’m… gonna go through with it.” Raihan’s got no bloody idea why he’s decided he will, but he has. Maybe for Leon’s sake, since he knows the bloke well enough to be sure this is exactly the sort of thing that’d break his heart. Or maybe because the idea of having to get some private clinic booked, and have this ‘taken care of’ in secret makes his skin crawl. And he ain’t sure if he feels bad about _that_ because he’s terrified it’d all get out to the public one day, or if the idea of doing it… sort of breaks his heart, too. But he can’t. He just—he _can’t_ go that route. After doing everything he could to keep from thinking about it for months, he forced himself to stop. To actually work out what he was going to do, and what he… thinks he wants. So he’s going to have to just… live with it for a while. “But—But here’s the thing, mate. ‘M not gonna… I don’t _want_ to be a dad.” Not yet, and sure as hell not like this. “If you want the—the, uh…” For fuck’s sake, he can’t just call it an ‘it’, even if that’s exactly what it fucking is right now. “The… The kid. It’s yours. But I don’t want that, alright? I don’t want to be involved, and it’s not gonna be my problem.” Oh, sure, he sounds like a git when he says that, but _damn it—“_ I didn’t ask for any of this, yeah?”

He hears Leon swallow loudly on the other end of the phone. “… No. You didn’t.”

“If you don’t want it, I’ll just…” Fuck, he doesn’t know. “I’ll give it up.” Makes him feel a mite sick to think of doing that, but he knows any kid’d be better off in a home than stuck with him. Most he’s ever managed is watching Hop for five minutes while Leon ran to the shop to get snacks for their movie when they were thirteen. Even then, Hop was nearly four, and Raihan was still _terrified_ the whole bloody time. Like he said, that ain’t parent material. But the best place—and Raihan’s more sure of this than anything else he’s been thinking lately—would be with Leon.

His stomach gets this heavy feeling, and then jolts when it hits him how quiet things have gotten, and he thinks Leon’s hung up on him. When he pictures having to call the bloke up again and maybe beg him to change his mind, he feels like he’ll be sick. But then Leon lets out a heavy sigh. “I understand. Raihan?” It really does sound as though he’s going to ask something else, but he doesn’t. Just stays silent for another while, then sounds real somber, and sort of sad when he says, “Yeah. I’d—I’d like to take care of all of this. And I’ll keep you out of it, as much as I can.”

He sounds so bloody disappointed _,_ and there’s still that sadness in his voice, and it makes Raihan feel a tad pissed, and just a bit like he’s truly hurt the bloke. More than anything, though, he’s so fucking _relieved._ It’s off his hands. Which means it ain’t too hard to sound like he’s smiling when he answers, “Thanks.”

* * *

It starts with his chest getting… puffy. Like, the, uh—the nipples. Raihan hates even thinking about it, but that’s the first thing he noticed. They got bigger, softer looking—and then the skin under his pecs start swelling up. And never really stopped, so now he’s got a pair of bloody man-tits, and they don’t even look how man tits ought to, they look like the kind a bird would have. Raihan can’t even take a selfie lately for fear of that sort of… _showing_ through his shirt. And then there’s the bump. His stomach, that is. Raihan can’t really be sure if it happened quick, over the course of a week or something, or if he really did wake up one morning to find it sticking out overnight, but it sure feels like the second thing. He’s never been the type to stuff himself with food to the point where he’s got a bloated gut—he’s a big bloke, he’s tall, always ate a lot, but it’d take a damn effort to make it happen—but he’s told himself maybe that’s what it looks like. Better than the alternative, really, but he thinks this is too high up on his body, and too weirdly… firm to look anything like that.

So, he looks it. Er— _pregnant_ , that is. Bloody hell. ‘Least, he feels like he does. Feels like it’s got to be obvious. He doesn’t even think about how that’s stopping him from updating any of his socials ‘til Leon calls him.

See, they haven’t—they haven’t talked much since Raihan dropped that wee bombshell on him. And Raihan feels pissed about it, that Leon’s giving him the silent treatment, but his guts still flip inside out when he sees who’s calling. He’s got to ask himself: really? Gonna be afraid of having a chinwag with his best fucking mate? Raihan thinks he answers just to prove what a load of Tauros shite that is, and he don’t fully realize what he’s done ‘til he hears Leon talking.

“Raihan?”

“Er.” His heart hasn’t gone skydiving this time, but it’s as though it forgot how to beat properly. “Yeah?”

“Are you alright, mate?”

The question hits him like an explosion’s gone off just beside him. Sort of like when his mum would see he’d had a hard day and ask him the same thing. And he’d be fine, just _fine_ , til she asked, and then he’d start blubbering like mad. Yeah, well, he ain’t a primary schooler no more, so he can hear Leon ask that without sniffling, but it still feels a mite more… shocking than it ought to.

“Uh—Y-Yeah. Yeah, ‘m fine.” Moving himself around so he looks more casual (Even though he’s the only one in his flat.), Raihan adds, “Why do you ask?”

“It’s just—Well, you haven’t updated your social media in a while.” … Is he really that predictable? Sod it—is he really that addicted to his phone, normally? Yeah, he sort of already knows the answer to that one. Still, it’s a slap in the face when Leon goes on. “And that’s pretty unheard of for you. I think your fans are starting to worry, and as temporary chairman, they’re recommending that I tell you to, um—“ Leon clears his throat, sounding sort of Woolooish when he mumbles, “—post something. To show you’re okay.”

“Uh. Yeah, mate. I can do that.” After he says that, Raihan gets a nasty thought. He knows Leon doesn’t expect him to do this, but he’d better make it crystal clear, just in case. “But I’m not going public about this whole… _thing_ , yeah? And I don’t want you to, either. I’ll start posting more, but nothing about… _this_.” No one’s going to see him turn into a bloody freak if he can help it.

“Sure, Raihan. Of course!” Just as bubbly as ever, Leon makes him feel like a daft idiot for even thinking this’d be a struggle. “I’ll, uh—I’ll let you get on with that.” There’s a pause. “Just—real quick.”

That weird, nervy jolt in his ribcage is back. “… Yeah?”

“You…” Leon clears his throat on the other end. “You _are_ alright, aren’t you?”

Is he? Sometimes he feels fine, other times he’s on the verge of losing his sodding mind. But mostly, he’s just pissed this all had to happen to _him_. Dreading what’s going to come next. So, no, he ain’t really _fine_ , but he doesn’t want to bring Leon into that conversation with himself, so he answers before he’s made up his mind about anything. “’Course I am, mate.”

* * *

It’s not hitting like it used to.

Rubbing one out, that is. Raihan’s not sure he’s ever felt this frustrated in his life; never wanted to shag someone _so bad_ , all the bloody time, but no matter how many times he jerks off, no matter how many times he finishes, this itching need comes crawling back under his skin. But it’s not as though he could shack up with anybody right now, looking the way that he does, so he don’t have much of a choice. He’s tired, he can’t think straight, and no matter how many times he tries to go for a walk, or watch a new series, the day always ends with him rutting into his palm just to try and _get there._

But there’s this other part of it. And that’s the, er—the _other_ part. Whenever he starts to get hard, he feels it. This horrible, intense throb, this surge of a feeling that’s nothing like anything he’s felt, but also strong enough, _good_ enough to nearly knock him on his ass when it happens.

He hasn’t gone near it. He’s a bloke, he’s never wanted to have one of these things. (Not in the sense that it’d be attached to him, anyway.) Enjoyed them plenty on his girlfriends, but could’ve gone his whole life, living happily, never knowing what it felt like to have the insides of your thighs get slick.

And then there’s a night where it wakes him up. He’s not sure if he had a dream that he doesn’t remember now, or if he’s just so fucking randy it startled him out of his sleep, but he’s hard as a rock. And when he reaches down, stupidly, foggy-headed, really just wanting to get back to sleep more than anything, ‘cause he’s utterly knackered, his pinky finger brushes it.

Raihan just about blacks out.

Head to toe, he goes stiff. He can’t. He’ll hate himself so _damn much_ if he does. So he stays where he is, yanking his hand up like he’s tugging it out of half-solid cement, the pads of his fingers resting on his length. Just frozen.

But then, he does.

Pries a hand between his thighs and lets the knuckle on his thumb just brush at it.

It’s bloody instant. His breath hitches and he curls forward, shaking. _Fuck him_ , it’s good. It’s so _fucking_ good. He rocks his hips, slowly, and hears himself whine. He’s too worn out to feel properly ashamed, thank fuck, so he does it again, wondering how the hell his body seems to have this instinct for what to do. Pressing his pointer and his middle fingers together, he grinds the front bit against them, and a shock of pleasure, almost _relief,_ forces this soft gasp out of him. He does it again, slower this time, and a rush bleeds all the way to the tips of his body.

Not sure what makes him do it; could be desperation, could be curiosity, and one of those ‘I’ll do any-fucking-thing to finish properly’ attitudes you get when you’re mid-wank and nothing’s pushed all your buttons just right. Either way, he shoves his hand a mite further down, the knuckle on his thumb grinding lightly at that same place. He freezes, knot in his throat— _fuck_ , mate. He really going to do this, then? Gives him this mad feeling that, if he does, there’s no going back. But that need starts buzzing in his ear, creeping up his spine like static, and he really will go off the trolley if he doesn’t give in, he’s _certain_ of it. So, knuckle rubbing in clumsy little circles, Raihan slides a finger between those soft, strange folds and pushes inside.

Fuck if Raihan knows whether it would’ve had the same effect if he _wasn’t_ hammering down on the clit, but he doubles over, almost _weeping._ Ah, hell. His dick’s throbbing, tip leaking a mite, like the wee bloke’s pissed Raihan’s forgotten about him. Every touch, every rub and now that pressure, the slick, warm _squeeze_ of his own body around his finger—every bit of it’s making him harder, and—ah, _fuck—_ still makes his stomach give this angry, sinking feeling to think it about himself, but _wetter._ He really hasn’t a clue what to do now, honestly. It’s been so difficult lately, just time after time of getting close and not finishing proper. Now he’s got _too much,_ and all this incredible feeling hits him _too easy._ Reminds him of a five-year-old trying to control a bloody Gyrados; sure, he’s won the battle, but honestly, all that really happened was him getting taken for a ride. Much as he tries to reign it in, to relax so he can keep this going, and finish in a way that doesn’t feel as though the rug’s been pulled out from under him, he’s already losing the fight.

He’s trying to catch up with his own body—like a runner that’s passed him in some sort of wanking relay—Raihan bucks against his hand, these little gasps leaking out of him as he curls forward.

In the end, he doesn’t care that his arm’s pressed against the side of his belly in a way it never did before; doesn’t give a shite that his arm’s also sinking into all this extra give that never used to be on his chest, along with this brand new tenderness. Oh, sure, he’ll be pissed, horrified, _whatever_ about all that afterwards, he promises as much, but for right now? Doesn’t matter. Not a thing matters except for him coming, and when he does, with this last, luxurious roll of his hips, he makes a _real_ ugly noise, fingers cramping up as they fight to stay in that position, at that angle, for just a second or two longer.

He shudders and shakes as if he’s having a fit. There’s a rush of pure joy—pure, nasty, _horny_ glee that’s absolutely suffocating him. A few more bucking motions, and he’s totally spent. He lies there, drenched with sweat and completely limp, his fingers and toes twitching every now and again. There’s no doubt in his mind he’ll be hating himself soon as he’s come down from this high.

But now? Right now, with his mind buzzing, his body impossibly relaxed, and this dull throbbing between his legs? Real tough to focus on anything but this moment, and how this may not be _all_ bad.

* * *

Towards the middle—four, five months into it—Raihan could hide it. Had a bit of a gut, yeah, but it didn’t look any worse than if he’d just been having a few pints too many lately. And if he wore his hoodie, you could barely see it at all! Raihan knows _,_ cause he spent for-bloody- _ever_ standing in front of the mirror, posing, lifting his arms, bending backwards a ways, just to make sure no angle, no way he’d be moving could give somebody any sort of idea what was really going on.

But that ain’t the case anymore. Seems as though it happened overnight. Again. One morning he goes to roll out of bed and it’s more trouble than it ever has been—and the ‘roll’ part feels a bit too literal _._ He sits up, and gets this wave of panic when he can’t see his lap, can barely see the tips of his knees under the dome of his belly. When he scoots to the edge of the bed, he shifts his legs over and tries to stand. But when he does, there’s this wobble, and this freaky moment where his balance feels just _wrong_. His stomach’s putting weight on his hips, something he’s never felt before in his life, and when he shambles into the loo to have a look, he ends up gawking for nearly ten minutes.

It don’t look anything like a beer belly. Not anymore, at least. The shape of it’s all wrong, and the rest of his frame’s too skinny. When he rolls up his shirt, feeling the nausea prick at the back of his throat, he sees this dark line painted down from his belly button, which, like something out of a horror movie, looks like it’s trying to invert itself. He can feel a lot of movement, too. Can’t really fool himself about that, either. What he used to think was just something he ate disagreeing with him slowly turned into tiny feet or hands pressing up against his insides. And then there’s his chest _._ It’s gone past swollen, he’s got bloody _tits._ And they’re… big _._ Wouldn’t be the least bit out of place on a bird’s chest (Probably a more built one— _fuck_ that.), and Raihan’s—

Yeah _,_ sod off. Alright. He tried playing with ‘em once or twice, but they’re so _tender_ , it wasn’t really a fuckin’ riot. The novelty wore off pretty fast, too, once Raihan started wondering if he’d be stuck with them long after the kid’s out.

None of his clothes fit like they should. Any shirts don’t go down far enough over the gut, or, if they do, they’re stretched out and cling to every curve. (Curves being something that most blokes, Raihan included, aren’t _expecting_ to have.) His hoodies don’t hide it anymore; just makes him look like he’s put on three stone, and most of his sweats or shorts have gone mysteriously tight around his hips.

He can’t stand it—the thought of being seen like this, that is—so he starts ordering his groceries. Pretends he ain’t at home when someone knocks on the door, and doesn’t go to grab the box ‘til he’s certain they’ve left. And then there’s his daft _social media._ Raihan hadn’t realized he’d gone so completely silent ‘til he started getting comments on his old posts, or a flood of DMs, asking, ‘Are you alright?’ and ‘where r u’ and ‘why haven’t you posted anything?’.

Ohh, that’s when Raihan knows it’s _bad,_ y’know? He ain’t got the heart to say anything about it. Can’t think of anything to do but to upload a picture of Flygon basking in the sunlight of his living room, just so folks won’t worry. But he feels a mite rotten, after he does it. In the end, he didn’t even have the heart to add a caption.

* * *

Raihan’s considering this online grocery shopping business the invention of the bloody century. Sure, he’s hoping he’ll never have any need to do it for the rest of his life, at least not ‘til he’s an ancient codger or something, but for now, it’s a lifesaver in every sense of the word. There’s just… one wee thing it can’t really compensate for. Something that’s got to do with the whole sodding reason he’s ordering groceries online in the first place. Guess it’s unavoidable when you’re in the same state that Raihan is: you get this feeling like you’ll top yourself if you can’t get this one food, and nothing else’ll even come close. Yeah, well, Raihan hasn’t been a fan of junk food since he was a teenager, and he didn’t think to put any crisps in the little online grocery cart at the time, but they’ve been all he can think of for the past twelve hours. Raihan thinks he’s going mad— _surely_ this shite ain’t normal, right? Who wouldn’t mention a thing like that? ‘Ah, yeah, before Timmy was born, I had a crippling addiction to those crème sandwich biscuits that’d make a cocaine addict blush.’ … Yeah, alright; Raihan can see how it’d be hard to stick in a polite conversation, but it’s still _weird_ how bad it is _._

He fights it for as long as he can stand to—he thinks of ordering a sandwich for delivery, just getting the crisps as part of the combo meal—but he doesn’t think he can make it another half hour. Beyond that, much as it makes his insides twist all about, he’s… not sure one of those wee bags would cut it.

So he takes a few precautions before heading out. More than a few, honestly. Pulls out every safety net he can think of. He wears the baggiest shirt he’s got, under the baggiest hoodie he owns, and sucks in the gut as much as it’ll go. He adds a hat, shades, and tucks all that under the hood, too. Look: he might be one of the tallest blokes in Hammerlocke, but hopefully this’ll be enough to throw a bit of confusion into the mix. Gym Leader Raihan doesn’t _hide_ from his audience. (Although, ‘Gone-up-the-duff-by-a-grubby-ancient-mystical-fountain’ Raihan sure as hell does.)

There’s a place just a block away; little corner shop that’s a tad run down, but they’ve got everything you could need at one in the morning. That’s normally when Raihan shops there, so it feels a mite odd going inside in the middle of the day. He holds his breath—and his stomach—in the whole way down the street and into the shop, only exhaling when he’s safely in an empty aisle. He’s just trying to pick between two brands when he hears this tiny voice go, “No!”

“No?” A woman answers the first voice, and Raihan cranes his neck over without really thinking, staring at the lady near the check out. “You don’t want it?”

This tiny bloke—can’t be more than four—shakes his head up at her. “Uh-uh.”

“Why not?” She looks down at the candy in her hand, and the longer Raihan stares, the more he thinks she’s holding in a laugh, trying to make this whole… _incident_ more serious than it is. Raihan can’t, for the life of him, work out _why—_ til he looks down at the kid again, anyway.

“It’s got…” Oh, hell. Raihan’s never seen a kid who looks more as though he’s got a stick up his wee arse. His arms are crossed, he looks bloody joyless _…_ Could be something about the fact that he’s seeing that look on such a chubby face, but Raihan gets now why the mum looks as though she’ll start chuckling at any moment. “Got… too much suga!”

“Too much sugar?” The mum makes an impressed sound, probably to hide the way her voice is shaking. “Wow, you’re really healthy!” Raihan watches her think for a moment, then put the sweets down on the counter. “How about this: I’ll buy it for me, and if you change your mind about wanting it later, you can have it.”

The kid nods at that—like he’s the boss. Like that’s just _adequate,_ and Raihan nearly laughs, himself. But then he stops. The hell’s the matter with him? He’s never liked kids any more than the next bloke. ‘Course, he never hated ‘em or anything. Might not have had a younger sibling of his own, but all his friends did, so he spent a fair share of his time tolerating the younger crowd. But he treats his fans more or less the same, no matter how old they are, and he’s not exactly the Queen of Galar, so it ain’t as though anyone’s asking him to hold or kiss their babies. He doesn’t really notice kids, doesn’t really care one way or the other. Except… today he is, for whatever barmy reason. If he had to bet, he’d say it’s got something to do with whatever’s messing with his head bad enough to make him feel he’ll _die_ without those bloody crisps. Hormones, or something. _Ech._

If anything, he ought to be panicked! Losing his shite at the sight of that kid, like it’s some sort of trigger, since Raihan’s about to be stuck with… Well, not really. Not exactly. Leon’s taken that particular bullet, even if Raihan keeps forgetting, or telling himself that the other bloke’s bound to back out at any second. But he hasn’t. He was even sending Raihan all these things about what he’s bought for the nursery, how he’ll handle everything, and more or less ‘take it from here’. He only stopped when Raihan got too panicky over the baby talk and told him to bugger off. So—yeah. No idea why he’s been thinking like that; he won’t have to deal with a tyke any time soon. Just everything _up until._

For some completely mad reason, he winds up watching the tiny lad stomp out of the door, leading his mum with a grocery bag nearly the size that he is clutched in his arms. He’ll probably drop some of the things. And, from the look on his face, so determined, concentrating so much _,_ Raihan does wonder if he’s even breathing properly. The mum holds the door open for him, looking down at the kid with a face so full of some—just—just _something_ that Raihan’s got a hard time putting a name to.

This thought pries its way to the forefront of his mind, oozing into his brain, saying something like, ‘Not something you need to worry about understanding, then’. 

Raihan knows the first thing he thinks in response to that should be a casual, happy, ‘ _Good.’_ He ought to feel joy, or satisfaction. Relief, maybe. But instead, all it does is piss him off. Puts him in a foul mood. So, by the time he’s up at the front himself, paying for his five whole bags of stupid crisps, he’s too pissed to care all that much about blending in, stomping out of the store and nearly bashing his forehead on the doorframe as he goes. 


End file.
